


I'll Be Your Friend in the Daylight Again

by makewavesandwar



Series: There We Will Be [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animal aspect coincidences continue, Ants, Beelzebub Might Be Having An Anxiety Attack (Good Omens), Beelzebub.exe has stopped working, Body Horror, Breaking glass as therapy, But still look out if that gets ya, Chromatophores, Depression, Emotional maturity? Never met her, Entomology, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fallen Angel Gabriel (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Michael (Good Omens), Forehead Kisses, Gabe has never flirted in his life, Gabriel is an Idiot (Good Omens), Gabriel is lying, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Torture, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Kissing, Kissing with an agenda, Look ants are cute okay, Maggots, Mild maggots, My First Fanfic, My anxiety is my beta, Or happy enough ending, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Questioning the Almighty (Good Omens), Rating May Change, Recovery, Secrets, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation, She/Her Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), Suicidal Thoughts, Temperature manipulation as flirting, Tenderness, The Metatron is SUCH an asshole (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Dagon (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for The Metatron (Good Omens), Torture, Wound Cleaning, Wounds, i don't make the rules, maybe smut later, yep sorry had to do it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2020-10-27 19:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20765960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makewavesandwar/pseuds/makewavesandwar
Summary: Lord Beelzebub was agitated.This in and of itself was not unusual – Hell was an exceptionally agitating place. Only, that was not why the Lord of the Flies was agitated.No, the reason that Lord Beelzebub was agitated was that the Archangel Gabriel was missing, and no one in Heaven or Hell seemed to be able to tell them where he was.





	1. Like an Old Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Beelzebub is agitated. Then, they receive an unexpected office guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my very first work that I'm sharing on AO3! So please, be gentle... but actually, I'd love to hear what you think. This community gave me the guts to finally post this, and for that I thank you! I hope you enjoy - I might even figure out a plot one of these days ;)
> 
> Fic title and all subsequent chapter titles from "Salt and the Sea" by The Lumineers.

Lord Beelzebub was agitated.

This in and of itself was not unusual – Hell was an exceptionally agitating place, and only more so since the Great Plan had ceased to govern its day-to-day actions. In fact, for several days directly after the events of what should have been the End of the World, Hell was so perfectly agitating that demons were being discorporated left and right by the sheer disquietude. The anxiety thrumming in the air had been almost audible, and while Beelzebub would have normally reveled in watching their subordinates struggle with such misery, they had been directly in the center of it.

However, this catastrophic agitation had tapered off as Almost Armageddon separated from the present, days sliding into weeks and weeks oozing into months. Though Hell’s ambient level of tension was perhaps a bit higher than before, this was not the reason the Prince of Hell had been pacing nonstop in their office for well over a week. It was not the reason that any demon who came within five feet of the office door (save Dagon, on a good day) found their mouth and throat full of squirming maggots that could not be miracled away for at least an hour. And it was certainly not the reason that Heaven had had to institute a “No Incoming Calls from Hell” policy after an exasperated Michael had wound up with _seventy-five _missed calls during a five-minute coffee break one morning.

No, the reason that Lord Beelzebub was agitated was that the Archangel Gabriel was missing, and no one in Heaven or Hell seemed to be able to tell them where he was.

First, it had been a scheduled phone call left unanswered, then another, and then a rendezvous on Earth to which the angel never showed. Gabriel was an absolute prick, and frequently late to Earth meetings because he insisted on jogging as his main mode of transportation, but after waiting for six full hours in that blasted, duck-filled park, the Prince had concluded that he simply wasn’t coming. They had been so angry as they descended back to Hell that every plant within a sixty-foot radius had immediately rotted.

All attempts to reach his cell phone went straight to voicemail. His office line appeared to have been disconnected, if it had ever existed at all. When Beelzebub could get Michael to pick up the phone (an increasing rarity, with no small amount of deception involved), the only answer she would give was that he was involved in some classified business and unavailable for contact.

This went on for weeks.

The Lord of the Flies had the Lord of the Files scour all available documentation in Hell on the Archangel, but nothing useful came to light. A small handful of angels had Fallen after the failed Apocalypse, but while there were new faces in Hell for the first time in millennia, none had a sufficiently potent aura to indicate high status in Heaven. An Archangel as powerful as Gabriel would not go unnoticed in Hell, that much was certain.

If he was not in Heaven, and he had not Fallen to Hell, that rather left the Earth. Lord Beelzebub sent Eric and a few dozen of his doppelgangers to scour the globe, with no luck. Gabriel was not in Switzerland, grumpily singing _The Sound of Music _to cheer himself up (the Prince had found him doing this before). He was not in New York City, beatifically granting small miracles to tourists walking out of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral (the Prince had also found him doing this, once). One of the Erics had even walked into Aziraphale’s bookshop to ask after the Archangel, and learned just before his swift discorporation that the traitor had not seen him since his angelic trial, either.

And so, Beelzebub paced. They filled the worthless, sniveling demons outside their door with maggots, and they wore their carpet down to the damp, crumbling subfloor. As they paced, they grumbled angrily to themselves.

_Why do I even _care _whether the Archangel is mizzzzzing? If he was killed, or demoted, or otherwizze run off, what problem is that to me?_

They reached the far wall of their office, kicked it bitterly, and turned around.

_It’s about the dizzrespect of skipping our tactical meetingz, our weekly callz, that’z it. No one standzz up the Prince of Hell without conzequence, ezzzzpecially not fucking Archwanker Gabriel._

Another wall, this one pounded with their small, vicious fist until a few paint chips fell away.

_And Michael, _lying _to me! There izz no way Above or Below that he’d be off on azzzzignment and our agentz not hear about it. She’z hiding something. Angelz aren’t zuppozzzed to be deceitful, that’z our job!_

This monologue was essentially identical to the one that had been running in the Prince’s head since they began their pacing. This particular round, however, was interrupted before its logical conclusion by a sudden shift in the power structure of Hell. The dim incandescent bulbs flickered overhead (or, well, flickered more than usual), and the air crackled minutely. A handful of demons in a lower circle, trying to shove the wrong size battery into a broken handheld radio, found the thing worked long enough to spit a few, crackling measures of an eerily familiar tune.

Most obviously, however, Beelzebub felt the shape of their aura shift. It tended to pull a bit on the edges toward other entities of great power – Lucifer, certainly, and the Dukes to a lesser extent – but as the single bulb above their desk flashed, they felt it tug strongly and insistently toward their office door, as if someone were on the other side. For a moment, the Prince froze, poking at the wards they’d raised to make sure they wouldn’t accidentally fill Lucifer’s mouth with maggots, should he have risen out of his temper tantrum in the lowest pits and deigned to visit. The wards, it seemed, thought this was a fine and self-preserving idea, and had already allowed Satan an exception. However, as Beelzebub stood stone-still in the center of their office, the shifting power settled. The overhead lightbulb dimmed. The far-below radio lost its station with a squeak.

The Prince exhaled. Not Lucifer, then.

Before they could ponder the matter further, however, a sharp knock sounded on the office door. As if it had never left, Beelzebub’s agitation flared back to life, and the maggot-infested wards with it. They expected to hear the sweet, sickly choking of a demon with a newly-crawling esophagus, but instead a second knock, just as determined as the first, rang through the office.

It was not Dagon’s knock.

Growing more agitated by the millisecond, the Lord of the Flies stormed to the door and threw it open, ready to soundly discorporate whatever miscreant had teased open a loophole in the wards. With venom on their tongue, they looked into the offending demon’s eyes, and for the first time in a long time found themselves truly speechless.

The Archangel _fucking _Gabriel was standing outside their office, hand still raised as if to knock a third time. But, at the same time, it certainly wasn’t the _Archangel _fucking Gabriel. Though his suit was as tidy and perfect as usual, it had darkened several shades, a sleek, leaden gray with only the vaguest purple undertone. He appeared gaunter, somehow; not less powerful by any means, but stretched thin and folded over, condensed down to barest bones, treacherously wiry. And his eyes… Beelzebub felt the tiniest catch of breath in the back of their throat as they saw that his ridiculous, brilliant lavender eyes had putrefied to a stale puce, the color filling his sclera from side to side.

Gabriel blinked down at the Prince, mouth half open but also apparently speechless. They blinked back, twice, before recovering their voice.

“You’ve Fallen.”

“So I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: the 'puce' I'm referring to is the purplish-red one, not what has been deemed 'puce green'. I'm imagining somewhere between Pantone's 19-1518 TPG and Hex #56374B, so interpret that as you will (and yes, even though I'm getting sick I'm awake at almost 2200 investigating colors).
> 
> Tell me what you think of this work so far!


	2. I Need to Find You, Need You to Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub is fairly certain Gabriel isn't telling them something, but he's decided to tell them some other things in the most awkward way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so delighted by the response to this fic so far! Hope the wait wasn't too long - I'll be trying for Wed/Thurs updates for the moment, maybe increasing to twice a week eventually. Enjoy!

The Prince and the former Archangel stood in the doorway of the office a moment longer, considering one another. Then, Beelzebub scowled.

“Falling izz not a good enough excuzzzzze to zztand me up for meetingz, you baztard! I was –” They stopped short, biting off the _I was worried about you_ that threatened to spill from their lips and replacing it with an irritated buzz.

Gabriel looked aghast. “Not a good enough excuse? I was rather busy having God’s Grace rent from my body, thank you very much! Sorry I didn’t have a moment to pick up the phone!”

They rolled their eyes. “Fine, fine.” Cocking their head to the side, they gestured for Gabriel to step into the room. He did, and they shut the door behind him before frowning. “Where did you Fall _to_, exactly? We would’ve notizzed if you’d come ztraight down here, your aura is very…bright.”

Gabriel shrugged, settling into the chair opposite Beelzebub’s desk and crossing his ankles. “Well, I certainly thought it was Hell at first, though clearly it wasn’t. Somewhere very deep on Earth, maybe? A canyon, some sort of volcanic crater? I didn’t really hang around to figure it out. And I might’ve been a bit distracted with, you know, _the Grace-rending thing_.”

Another eye roll, which morphed into a suspicious squint as the Lord of the Flies examined Gabriel more closely, circling the desk towards their chair. Besides the shift of color palette and the gauntness, he appeared fairly whole, borderline unchanged from his angelic form. They cast their mind back to the aftermath of their own Fall, along with the original host of Hell – boiling flesh, acid eating away at celestial bone and sinew, the last, sweet breath of Heavenly air tearing itself from their lungs. Time hadn’t been measured in a consistent way in those days, so it was hard to discern how long they had all lain in the Pit, suffering, before Lucifer arose and called them into action. It had definitely _seemed _longer than a few weeks. Even after the worst of the torment subsided, it was not uncommon to find the freshly Fallen weakly curled into corners, clutching at the emptiness in their chests, hands darkened with demonic ichor from reopened wounds. Many who had seemed to survive the initial Fall were lost in the stretches of time following, giving in to mania and rot.

Beelzebub supposed something could’ve changed about the Fall in the many intervening millennia (though they quietly fumed at the thought that She had gotten more merciful to those She cast out), but what of the other angels who had Fallen recently? The Prince had been far too preoccupied with seeking knowledge of Gabriel’s whereabouts – and, then, pacing away their agitation – to visit the chambers where the newly Fallen lay in filth. However, Dagon had dutifully assured them in several egregiouslylong reports that the newest demons were in perfectly miserable shape. The whole of Hell had smelled them coming long before they landed in the Pit – the unsettling sweetness of charred angelic flesh was not soon forgotten, no matter how long it had been. None had been assigned work stations, nor submitted any entry-level paperwork, suggesting that they were not yet fit for duty. That the former Archangel sitting here now looking practically normal seemed odd at best and extremely unlikely at worst.

“And you’re juzzzt…okay now?” Beelzebub said, kicking a stack of papers from the surface of the desk to rest their feet there. “Falling muzzt’ve gotten eazzzier, then.”

Gabriel’s shoulders tensed, and he grimaced. “Well, it wasn’t pleasant, obviously, but I think the worst is over. After the – well, the whole Grace business – I think I was unconscious for a time. When I woke up, I sort of struggled around wherever I was until I realized it wasn’t actually Hell.”

He paused, looking around Beelzebub’s office with a touch of sadness in his strange new eyes, before blinking it away and continuing. “I figured this was where Fallen angels were supposed to be, so I got up and made my way here, to Hell. To you.”

He said the last bit pointedly, and met the Prince’s eyes. Not usually one to flinch out of a staring contest, they nonetheless fought the urge to look away, to flee. Gabriel appeared absolutely earnest in his claims, but Beelzebub was sure he was hiding something. The nonchalance with which he spoke of the whole ordeal, the indifference to where he had Fallen, and not even a shred of anger – none of it sat right with the Lord of the Flies. They did not have time to consider it further, because Gabriel cleared his throat and leaned in toward the desk.

“We’ve…formed something of a friendship, working towards the Great Plan all these years, haven’t we? Weekly phone calls, exchanging intelligence, that sort of thing?”

Beelzebub stilled. “I…zuppozzzzzzzze.”

He shifted in his seat again, finally breaking eye contact. “I always thought that you were…respectable, effective, someone whose work ethic and managerial style I admired. Under different circumstances, I…imagined…that we could’ve been…closer.”

Pieces clicked together in the Prince’s mind, and they smirked wickedly at the Fallen before them. “Fallen Angel _fucking _Gabriel, are you trying to _flirt_ with me by complimenting my _bureaucratic zkill_?”

His cheeks turned vividly pink as he spluttered, looking anywhere else but at Beelzebub. “I – well I wouldn’t put it that way! – But, I guess, yes?” He took a deep breath, then looked back at the Prince, muddied purple pouring into brilliant blue. “This isn’t new, by the way, but before there was nothing to be done about it. You were a Prince of Hell and I was an Archangel of the Lord. Opposites. Combatants. But that’s not true anymore, is it? We’re on the same side.”

Beelzebub blinked at him, something almost soft in their expression as they murmured, “The zame zzzzide…” However, the softness did not linger as the rest of his words sank in. The devilish smirk returned.

“Not new, eh? Have I been _tempting_ you, Gabriel? Izz that why you increazzed the frequenzy of our meetingzz on Earth, to _zee me_?”

A truly tomato-like blush was the only answer the Lord of the Flies needed, and they let out a hard, short laugh. Gabriel pouted at the sound, then reached a careful hand as if to touch the nearest part of the Prince, which happened to be their fishnetted ankle, resting on the desk. "Come on, Bee, don’t be like that!”

Beelzebub kicked his hand away, though much gentler than either of them expected. “Zhut it, wank-wingz. I’ll conzzzider being ‘Bee’ later, but right now I am Lord Beelzebub, _your zzuperior_, and there’z something elzzze you seem to like that needz to be done.”

Gabriel cast a disbelieving eye over the office. “What could there possibly be in Hell that I like besides you?”

The Prince’s smirk deepened into a truly dastardly grin, and a large stack of yellowed, creased forms fell into Gabriel’s lap, immediately scattering onto the floor.

“Paperwork!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter went in a very different direction than I expected, but I hope I made it work. Let me know what you think, and come visit me on Tumblr at makewavesandwar if you want!


	3. You Couldn't Hide It, Hide It from Me - Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why wouldn’t they want more? Wanting more, more, more was written into the blood and bones of every demon, the visceral need to consume and to own – gluttony, covetousness, possession. No need to lie about that.
> 
> Bee makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I headcanon Beez as left-handed, so jot that detail down. This chapter got split into two, and good news, folks! Plot things are coming! Prepare for me to flagrantly invent some things about the way celestial beings draw and use power over the next few chapters. Alright? Alright. Tickety-boo!

The Lord of the Flies’ office had fallen quiet, save Gabriel’s occasional exasperated noises as he shuffled the paperwork in front of him. Inside the Prince’s head, however, it was frantically loud. They tried doggedly to focus on their own stack of paperwork, but they were fairly certain they'd been staring at the same page for close to an hour. It was hardly important what they were reading over – something Dagon had already sifted through, corrected, and sent for approval – but the usual satisfaction of exercising their power evaded them. The fountain pen they held was leaving a large, asymmetrical black stain on the left margin of the document, but they found they didn’t care in the slightest.

Their eyes losing focus once again, Beelzebub suppressed a sigh and rubbed their temples. The only thing the buzzing cacophony of their mind would latch onto was Gabriel’s stilted confession, if you could call it that – _to Hell, to you, to Hell, to you_. It cycled through their subconscious like a virus, burrowing deeper with every repetition. The thought was accompanied by the image of the flush of blood in his cheeks, vital and sheepish and _close_, close enough to reach out and touch if they chose to.

As a Prince of Hell, Beelzebub was exquisitely good at lying. There was only one person in the whole of Hell that they had never lied to, and that was Lucifer himself (though not for lack of trying; he was just notoriously difficult to lie to). Suddenly, however, they found that they were having trouble lying to themselves. The first lie they tried was that they had never considered their…_close_ working relationship with the Archangel with a sort of wistfulness, a desire for more. Failing to convince themselves, they backtracked – Why _wouldn’t _they want more? Wanting _more, more, more _was written into the blood and bones of every demon, the visceral need to consume and to own – _gluttony, covetousness, possession_. No need to lie about that, perfectly alright.

The second lie was that this want, this _craving_, was not specific to just Gabriel; again, they failed to convince themselves. There was a perfectly Gabriel-shaped space in their internal catalog of desires (though now that space was a little too broad – _why is he so thin? where is he hiding the rest of himself?_) and it had been there far longer than Beelzebub would readily admit. They'd known each other almost six thousand years; been meeting at least once a year for close to two thousand; been meeting more frequently for several hundred. And in all those years, the Prince had taken every opportunity to nap and to daydream, creating ample time over the centuries to imagine every perfectly wicked thing they might do to the archangel if he ever Fell. It had seemed a harmless (and _delicious_) dream for so long, and they weren’t entirely sure what to do with the opportunity now that it was quite literally staring them in the face.

A soft rustling of fabric jolted the Prince out of their own head. They glanced up to see Gabriel shrugging out of his suit jacket, his tie already loosened around his neck. He caught their eye, turning pink again and smiling weakly.

“I guess I should’ve expected Hell to be warm, eh?”

Beelzebub carefully schooled their expression as the jacket fell away, revealing his strong shoulders and arms. They didn’t think it was particularly warm in the office – _perhapz I’m uzzed to it?_ – and briefly made to miracle the temperature lower before remembering themselves. A tiny smirk played on their lips, instead _raising_ the temperature of the room by ten degrees and pretending to return to their paperwork.

They did not have to wait long for the fruits of their actions. Ten minutes later, shifting fabric and frustrated sounds again caught their attention; this time, Gabriel had thrown his tie to the floor and was rolling up his shirt sleeves, an impossible sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Did you _forget_ that celeztialzz don’t need to zweat, or are you juzzzzt that big of an idiot?”

He frowned. “I requested that my corporation be able to perspire to avoid suspicion while jogging on Earth, thank you very much! It seemed to make sense at the time.” The Prince watched silently as he finished with his sleeves and ran a hand through his hair, making the front stand on end with a light patina of sweat. What else might cause his hair to ruffle that way?

They raised the temperature another ten degrees.

It only took six minutes this time. Gabriel was sweating in earnest now, desperately shoving the sleeves of his dress shirt higher, tugging at its collar in hopes of some relief. The few final remaining pieces of paperwork became a makeshift fan in his hands, struggling to make the still office air move around him. Beelzebub watched this unfold with dark delight, though they tried valiantly to keep the smirk from their face just yet. The room became another ten degrees hotter. They waited three more minutes.

“Are you planning to actually finish the paperwork, or are you content to uze it azzzz a fan all day?”

Gabriel looked up at them mid-fan, sweat trickling down his brow. “I – well of course I’ll finish it, it’s just that it’s very hot –” He stopped, blinked twice at the mirth gathering in the Prince’s eyes, and actually dropped his jaw in surprise. “Hey! What are you doing to me?!”

Beelzebub laughed, _really_ laughed, a sound that hadn’t been heard in their office in centuries. Gabriel continued to stare at them, half-dazed, as they circled the desk and perched on the front edge, ankles crossing between his perfectly-postured feet on the floor. Excruciatingly slowly, the Prince unfastened their own strange tie, deposited it on the desk next to them, and began working on their cuff links, all without breaking eye contact. Gabriel gulped.

“_Finish. The. Formzzzzzzz._” The Lord of the Flies commanded, their voice reverberating around the room. Gabriel frantically shuffled the last few pages in his hands, barely pausing to scan the text before adding his signature on various dotted lines. Every few seconds his eyes flickered upward, further spurred into action as Beelzebub discarded their jacket and vest. With a final scribble, the paperwork was complete, and the entire lopsided stack shoved into an equally lopsided wire tray on the Prince’s desk. Almost breathless, Gabriel looked back at Beelzebub, and _waited_.

As delicious as the slow agony of the rising temperature had been to behold, Beelzebub found they enjoyed the former archangel’s compliance even more. _I didn’t even have to explain who’z in charge,_ they thought smugly. Feeling a soft buzz build in their throat, they slowly leaned forward, tracing a line down Gabriel’s jaw with their sharp fingernail before dropping it to his shirt collar and severing the first three buttons. He shuddered, cloudy purple eyes darkening. His hands twitched on the arms of the chair.

“Izzzz thiz what you meant by _clozzer_?” The Prince’s voice was low but steady, finger still hooked on Gabriel’s shirt, the space between them charged and closing by the second. Gabriel almost whimpered as he nodded, fingers clenching and unclenching. Their faces were mere inches apart now, Beelzebub barely maintaining contact with the desk behind them, static electricity sparking off of the walls of the office as their auras flinched against each other.

Their breath was soft on Gabriel’s lips as they commanded, “_Touch me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! I've got the next chapter written already, which is lucky because I'm travelling this week and wasn't sure when I'd have time to write/post. Let me know what you think, and come visit on tumblr at makewavesandwar if you like!!


	4. You Couldn't Hide It, Hide It from Me - Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know you're very new to thizzz whole 'demon' thing, zo here'zz a tip: lying izz generally encouraged, but you do NOT lie to me."

It was like the shot at the start of a race. Gabriel surged forward, grabbing them from the desk and dragging them into his lap before roughly capturing their lips with his. He tasted like a stream after a forest fire, ashes and smoke and heat still boiling beneath the surface. They buried their hands in his hair, still damp with sweat, and groaned as he pulled them flush against him. _Delicious, delicious_.

Unfortunately, Beelzebub had not chosen their office furniture to be comfortable (quite the opposite, in fact), and even the tiniest movements knocked their knees against the chair’s uneven wooden arms. They growled as they hit a particularly sensitive spot and momentarily pushed themselves back from Gabriel’s close grasp. He whined at the loss.

“None of that. Bedroom. _Now._” A door built itself out of the wall behind the Prince’s desk, ornate and yet rough, with black, ichorous sigils carved so deeply into the wood that they seemed to pull at the light in the room. Without a second thought, Gabriel rose from the chair with Beelzebub in tow, clutching their waist and pulling them back into a kiss as he stumbled around the desk. The Prince’s back hit the door with a thud, sending a pleasant shiver of pain shooting through them. Unceremoniously, the door opened to admit them, and the pair nearly fell into the room beyond.

It was sparsely furnished – a nightstand, a lamp, and a huge four-poster bed – but the corners of the room were piled with papers and textiles that seemed to span millennia of collecting. Wasting no time, Gabriel fumbled the door shut behind them and collapsed onto the bed, pinning Beelzebub beneath him. They bit back a warm groan at the weight of him on top of them, heavy and secure but _wrong, still wrong, wrong size, wrong shape_. Tearing at the remaining buttons on his shirt, they greedily ran their fingers over the chest beneath, savoring the sensation but _too smooth, too whole, wrong, where are the wounds?_

Through the haze of their rising lust, these thoughts prickled like hailstones through fog. It was difficult for Beelzebub to focus on the roaming hands clutching at their sides and the sweet, desperate noises they were wringing from the newly Fallen’s throat with every swipe of their tongue and teeth. They had half a mind to ignore the problem until later – _they had been waiting thousands of years, for fuck’s sake_ – but as their hands slid to Gabriel’s hips to pull him closer, and felt the way their small fingers spread around the bones there, their mind immediately cleared. They would not wait for answers.

The situation was delicate. There was a reason that Gabriel was hiding…whatever exactly it was that he was hiding, and the Prince was not so foolish as to believe that he would simply tell them if they asked. No, he would continue to hide as long as possible, and they did not like to be kept waiting. However, they also knew that they had him in the _perfect _position to keep him distracted while they investigated a bit, if the hardness pressed between them was any indication.

Mind racing, they resumed their ministrations, biting down on his lower lip while raising their hands to his shoulders to tug at his shirt. Gabriel was all too happy to assist, grunting with surprise as Beelzebub swiftly flipped them; he was flat on his back by the time the shirt hit the floor. His eyes widened as the Prince removed their own shirt, rocking their hips painfully slowly against him as he gripped their thighs. Both their chests now bare, they lightly ran their fingers along the muscular lines of his torso (_too smooth, too thin, wrong, wrong_), ostensibly admiring his physique while actually reaching out with every sense they had, looking for any sign of his Fall. Lowering their mouth to his neck, they trailed their teeth down towards his navel, nipping occasionally, inhaling deeply, _searching, searching_, until –

_There_. Below his rib cage, on his right side, a…fold, for lack of a better word. It was not in his physical corporation, but in the shape of his energetic being, the celestial form hidden beneath the mundane flesh. Though it was barely visible – a flicker in the corner of their eye, a shadow skating out of sight – it was the _smell_ that couldn’t be missed. Beelzebub barely managed to repress their shudder as the faint whiff of charred Grace dredged up sensations from their own Fall. Somehow, though, it was still _wrong_. There was a tangy, chemical undercurrent to the scent, an overexerted muscle eating itself. The Prince hadn’t even realized that a celestial _could_ smell like ammonia.

Nipping once more at his stomach – and eliciting a perfectly _sinful_ moan from the former archangel – Beelzebub sat straight up, crossed their arms, and looked Gabriel dead in the eye.

“I know that you’re very new to thizzz whole ‘demon’ thing, zo here’zz a tip: lying izz generally encouraged, but you do _not_ lie to me.”

Squirming beneath them, Gabriel furrowed his brow in confusion. “Lying to you? I’m not lying to you, I swear! Unless…are you making a really horrible pun about me laying in your bed right now?”

The dark expression on the Lord of the Flies’ face answered his question loud and clear, and they buzzed low in the back of their throat. “If you’re not lying to me…” their hands found his stomach again, touch featherlight, “…then _what_…” fingers floating across skin, nearing his right side, “…iz _thizzzzz_?” They carefully tapped a finger just outside the energy fold, not daring to press on it.

Gabriel blanched, every fiber of muscle in his corporation springing taut at the touch. Through all the centuries they had known him, they had never seen him look so _terrified_.

“Please don’t, Bee.” His voice came out as a pitiful whisper, lips barely forming the sounds. “Please, I am begging you with all that I am and all that I was, _please_, just don’t.”

He reached a violently shaking hand up to the Prince’s face and gently cupped their cheek. Though his touch was warm and soothing, they felt themselves frowning at the panic in his eyes. He attempted a weak smile. “Don’t frown, Bee. I liked what your mouth was doing before better.”

Gentle pressure on their cheek meant that he was trying to pull them back into a kiss, but the Prince resisted. Their demonic nature wanted so badly to continue, to _consume_ him, to _shatter_ him with pleasure, but something that felt suspiciously like concern held them back. _Ugh. I hope _that_ doezzzn’t become a habit_.

Shaking their head, they carefully took Gabriel’s hand from their face and held it in their lap. “No. Show me what you’re hiding, Gabriel.”

His whole body was shaking now, and they thought they saw tears forming in his eyes. “Please,_ please_, I can’t. Let me just have this, this one good thing, let me have you like this just for now, _please_.”

Again, they shook their head. “Do not make me command you, Gabriel. You _will_ show me, or I will _make you_.”

A few tears slipped down his cheeks, and he gulped. “I – okay. You’ll have to get off of me. But please, _please_, don’t leave. Promise me you’ll stay, after.”

Frowning deeper, Beelzebub nodded and climbed off of him, seating themselves on the corner of the bed and leaning back on the bedpost. Gabriel sat up haphazardly, scrubbing at his eyes and mostly failing to steady his breathing. After a few moments, seeming to realize that the Prince’s patience wouldn’t last forever, he took in one more rattling breath, put his hand to his side, and _unfolded_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What in the sam heck, Gabriel?? I'd love you hear your thoughts on this chapter! As ever, come visit on tumblr at makewavesandwar if ya like! ^_^


	5. All That You Suffered, All the Disease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn't know whether to scream or smack him across the face.
> 
> Surprise! Companion piece/Gabriel POV prequel now posted at [Will You Recognize My Face After God's Awful Grace?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21427849)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter describes wounds/body horror, self-harm/self-mutilation, depression and suicidal ideation. Also swarms of crawling insects, briefly.
> 
> Should I include a CW for angst? Definitely that too. :) Enjoy with caution!

Beelzebub nearly tumbled backward off the bed. They’d be loath to admit it, but Gabriel looked even _worse _than they had imagined he might, _worse _than what they remembered of their own Fall. He was badly burned, layer upon layer of unhealed, glistening wounds so deep that they reached into his core. Atop the burns were gouges, as of nails or claws digging into the skin, and the Prince had no doubt that these were self-inflicted. All of the wounds together almost formed a pattern, though it wasn’t one they could fully identify – a raw swoop here that reminded them of some Enochian letter, a mottled bruise there that formed a plane across his body, as if he had been thrown on something. The ichor oozing from him was black, leaving no question that he was a demon now, but they shuddered as they began to realize that the injuries themselves didn’t look like those of a Fall.

Gabriel had been tortured.

Their eyes returned to his face, expecting to still find terror and pain written there, but Gabriel was no longer looking at them. Instead, he was examining one of his wrists, surprise and fascination in his features. Leaning closer, Beelzebub noticed that his body was positively _crawling _with ants, their purple-red bodies almost iridescent in the low light. “That’s what that sensation was.” He murmured, watching the tiny insects flurry over his skin. He looked almost fond, even as the bedclothes around him darkened with his celestial blood. The stench of charcoal and ammonia was overwhelming, and as the Prince squinted they could see his aura weak and wavering around him, barely holding itself together. They felt anxiety and anger spike as they realized he had been in this state through _all _of their interactions in the past few hours, hiding it under a patina of normalcy.

They didn’t know whether to scream or smack him across the face.

Trying to remain calm, they ground out, “What the _fuck _happened to you, Gabriel?”

He raised his eyes from his newfound swarm. “I Fell, Bee, I thought that was obvious.”

“No, you idiot, I mean all of _thizzz_. Thezzze are not juzzt woundzz from Falling, are they?”

He sighed, dropping back onto the bed weakly. “No, no they’re not.” A tremor passed through him, and he began again.

“After our last phone call, the day after the traitors survived their trials, the Metatron came to me. They told me that I had failed the Almighty’s test, and that my faith must be very weak to have not understood Her plans for me. My faith _should’ve_ been stronger than anyone’s, _especially _Aziraphale’s, but the Principality passed the test and I failed.”

Tears began pooling in his eyes again, and he scrubbed them away. “The other disobedient angels had just been cast out of Heaven, but the Metatron told me that I didn’t _deserve _to Fall with them. I had to be humbled before I was cast out, reminded of everything that I had once been that I couldn’t be anymore. So, they sentenced me to Fall in place, there in Heaven, surrounded by the light of the Grace I no longer deserved, and all the while their voice was ringing in my ears reminding me that I was _nothing_, that in my failure I ceased to have worth. And they were _right_.”

At this last word, he turned away from the Prince onto his side, dissolving into sobs. He seemed even smaller in that moment than when he had been folded.

Lord Beelzebub was speechless; not because they were surprised that the Metatron would do such a thing (it was actually pretty on-brand, if they were honest), but because Gabriel seemed to _believe_ what he had been told. This was not the self-assured, proud-to-a-fault, holier-than-thou Archangel that they knew and sometimes tolerated. _What did they _do _to you?_

“You cannot _zeriouzzly_ believe that, can you?”

Gabriel rolled back over to look at them, sniffling, brow furrowed. “The Metatron is _literally _the Voice of God, Bee. If they think I am nothing, so does She.”

“But you’re a demon now, Gabriel! It doezzn’t matter what She thinkz of uzz anymore.”

This was evidently the wrong thing to say. Gabriel sobbed again, curling inwards and sinking his claws into his upper arms, tearing at himself. “NO!” they shouted, and sprang across the bed to wrench his hands away. They pinned his arms to his sides with a bit of demonic power to ensure that he couldn’t lash out at himself again, then stalked away across the room.

“You’ll get uzzed to the idea eventually, but until then, _no more zzelf-deztruction_.” They commanded, and Gabriel nodded meekly. The Prince rubbed their temples, pacing at the foot of the bed.

“Zo, I underzztand now _where _you Fell, and _why_ – or at leazzzt, why the Metatron claimz. But why did you hide the damage? We may not all have been tortured, but we all Fell. It would not have shocked me. And it could not have ezzcaped your notice that the ztrain of it wazz eating you alive! There izz no way you could’ve zuzztained the dezzception for more than a few dayzz.”

Gabriel looked very small again, and mumbled, “I wasn’t trying to last more than a few days, Bee.”

The urge to yell and/or slap him intensified again. “_Excuzzzze me?!_ And what _exactly _wazz the plan, then?!”

He looked away. “When the Metatron collected me after my torment to finally throw me out of Heaven, they mentioned that you had been calling nonstop, looking for me. It almost made me hopeful, that there could be a silver lining, some positive thing to come out of this. But I knew you wouldn’t want me _like this _–” He nodded down at his battered form. “– knew I couldn’t face you if I looked and felt like the _nothing _I am now. So, I covered it up, and yes, I lied to you. I wanted a chance at one final good thing, and then it wouldn’t matter if my disguise killed me or not. I’m not sure I deserve to live, anyhow.”

During this speech, Beelzebub had stopped pacing, and was now standing perfectly still, eyes closed, facing Gabriel. “Zo your plan – and correct me if I’ve got it wrong – wazz to come to me here in Hell, confezz your feelingz to me, mezz around for a few dayz, _and then fucking die?_”

Though the Prince could not see him, Gabriel blanched. “Well, when you put it that way –”

They cut him off. “And, if I felt the zzame way, _which it_ _kind of zzzeemz you were hinging thizzz entire plan on_, I wazz juzzt zuppozzed to be _fine _with you _exterminating yourzzelf in my bed?!_”

“Bee, I swear, that wasn’t –”

Their eyes flew open, and they were blood-red. “_NO. YOU DO NOT GET TO ZZAY WHAT IT WOULD OR WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN._” They were vibrating with anger, and Gabriel twisted under their gaze and against the hold on his arms.

“You will make a fine demon, Gabriel – you’ve got zzelfishnezzzzz well in hand.”

Beelzebub stormed away from the bed and threw the door open, but when they heard Gabriel’s choked sob behind them they paused. His words were barely a whisper. “You promised you’d stay, Bee. _You promised_.”

They bit their lip so hard they tasted iron. Anger and pity churned in their gut, but their heart ached. It felt _disgusting_.

Turning their head towards Gabriel slightly, the Prince said, “I give my word I will be back soon. I need a moment.”

With that, they stepped into their office, closed the door behind them, and screamed bloody murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this, I cannot even tell you. I'd love to hear what you think! Leave a comment or come visit me on tumblr at makewavesandwar!. And you should check out the companion piece/Gabriel POV prequel at [Will You Recognize My Face After God's Awful Grace?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21427849) if you haven't already!


	6. Left Me to Rock in My Filth - Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something cool and wet splashed onto their hands, and they realized with horror that they were _crying_. “What the actual _fuck_.” They screeched, angrily wiping at their face and destroying their tear ducts with a demonic miracle for good measure.
> 
> Beelzebub? Having a panic attack? It's more likely than you'd think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell only has one brain cell and usually Bee has it but today I think it's Dagon's. Also, am I projecting my anxiety on Bee? Very very much. Enjoy!

The Prince’s scream shattered all the glass in their office, as well as the offices on either side. It lasted only a moment, and then their hands collided with their desk, sweeping everything onto the floor as another scream burst from their throat. Ink from overturned inkwells oozed into the already-stained carpet, black and red and gold puddles swimming in their vision. They viciously overturned their chair, then glanced at the chair where Gabriel had sat and set in on fire with a snap of their fingers. They tried not to notice how much their hands were shaking.

Out, they had to get _out_. Not for long, mind you – they were a demon of their word, and they would keep their promise to Gabriel – but right now the raging tide of emotions in their brain was so loud it filled the room, making them claustrophobic. Or maybe it was how quiet the room really was in comparison to the fury inside? There was nothing to distract, nothing to smother the chaotic din. They had _felt _more today than probably the last decade combined, and it was beginning to nauseate them.

Kicking the burning chair into an already charred corner, Beelzebub summoned their swarm of flies and hoped to Go–, Sa–, _fucking whoever_ that the buzzing would sufficiently drown out their turmoil. The low white noise was certainly comforting, but it still wasn’t enough. They were acutely aware that Gabriel was behind their bedroom door, laid appallingly low by the Metatron’s words and actions, and they _could not deal_ with that right now. Something cool and wet splashed onto their hands, and they realized with horror that they were _crying_.

“What the actual _fuck._” They screeched, angrily wiping at their face and destroying their tear ducts with a demonic miracle for good measure.

Collecting their vest and jacket from the floor, they dressed and crossed the room before noticing a wet choking noise coming from the corridor outside. The sound grew louder as the Prince listened, seeming to multiply out from their door in either direction, and they groaned. _Fucking drama queen._

They swung the door open to reveal Eric, close to a dozen copies spread through the hallway, all gagging on an esophagus full of maggots. Rolling their eyes, the maggots vanished, and the lead Eric stood up a little straighter, coughing.

“Did it not occur to you to zzztop multiplying if _all_ of you would juzzt end up choking?”

He shrugged nervously. “I figured you’d come to the door eventually? Though the screams sounded pretty wicked, are you torturing in your office now, too?”

The Prince narrowed their eyes. Eric could be a pain in the ass, but he was fairly reliable, and – most importantly – he was already here. “Zzomething like that. Eric, I’ve actually got a tazzzzk for you, come in.”

The demon and his copies shuffled into the office, not at all subtly staring at the still-burning chair and the mess around the desk. Beelzebub grit their teeth. “I need for you – _zzome _of you at leazzt – to ztand here by thizz door and keep guard. No one zzhould be allowed in or out exzzept for me, and _under no zzircumztancezzz are you allowed to enter_.”

This last command was said with such venom that a few of the copies promptly discorporated. The remaining demons nodded vigorously and took their positions before the door, forming a barrier two-deep between the office and the bedroom.

It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to suffice. Beelzebub could feel their hands still shaking where they were clasped behind their back. “Exzellent. Do not move from thizz pozition until I return.”

They were halfway out the door when the lead Eric called out, “Oh, my Lord! I nearly forgot! Dagon sent us to come get you, that’s why we were here in the first place.”

The Prince nodded and slammed the door. _Well, at leazzt that givezz me a place to go._

Angry walks through Hell were not an infrequent occurrence for the Lord of the Flies. On afternoons when they were caught up on paperwork, they would frequently pay visits to the various departments under their jurisdiction, pointing out incompetence and delivering punishment as necessary. If they were particularly angry, or sometimes just very, _very _bored, they might even toss a few offending demons over the lip of the Pit to revel in the satisfying _crunch _of broken bone as they collided with the ground below.

This walk felt different, though. They were jumpy, phrenetic, and the crashing, swirling maelstrom within kept threatening to conjure another scream from their throat. The phantom weight of tears on their cheeks was making them hideously paranoid, and they swiped at their face absently, causing their swarm of flies to upset and resettle as they walked. They had expected to take their time meandering to Dagon’s office, cause a little chaos on the way, but their feet seemed to have other plans. Before they knew it, the Prince was standing before the Lord of the Files’ door, and they almost put a hole through it with their knock.

Dagon’s face appeared, grimacing as they took in Beelzebub’s appearance. “You look fucking horrible, come in.”

They scowled as they stepped into the office. “Izz that any way to zzzpeak to your Prinzzze?”

The scaled demon smiled coldly, revealing their sharp teeth. “It is if it’s the truth, my Lord. Looks like you already heard that Gabriel Fell. Who broke the sweet, sweet news before I could?”

Beelzebub bit back another scream as they shoved a pile of papers off Dagon’s desk and took a seat there. “The former Archwanker himzzelf did, when he zzhowed up at my door looking perfectly normal exzept for hizz eyezzzz.”

Dagon hissed. “He was fine?? What kind of bullshit Fall is that?”

The Prince kicked over the lamp next to Dagon’s desk. “That’zz the fucking thing! He _wazzn’t_ fine, he wazz juzt _pretending _to be zzo that he could…well, nevermind why. But he wazz hiding hizz woundzz, and the effort wazz going to kill him before I called him out on it.”

The other demon raised an eyebrow. “Why call him out at all? Would it be so bad if the asshole destroyed himself?”

This time their scream did break loose. Beelzebub clapped their hand over their mouth as swiftly as they could, but from Dagon’s look of shock the sound could not be recaptured. The two demons stared at each other for a moment, one’s breathing increasing rapidly while the other’s face settled into a sort of understanding. The latter stood and said, “I have just the thing.”

Dagon walked around their desk and pulled a water-damaged cardboard box from beneath it. Inside was an assortment of very delicate looking glassware, plates and cups and vases, which clinked equally delicately as they swung the box up to sit beside the Prince on their desk.

“This might help. Have at it.”

Eyes wide, Beelzebub snatched the top plate and lobbed it across the room at the door, exhaling deeply and raggedly as it shattered. A champagne flute followed, then another. Dagon sat quietly beside them through the process, nodding appreciatively at particularly impressive breaks. By the time the box was empty, the Lord of the Flies had ceased their shaking and taken control of their breathing. They slid off the desk onto the floor, exhausted.

Dagon hummed thoughtfully above them. “I know you won’t tell me _exactly_ what’s going on, but I’d wager he’s dealing with it about as well as you are, oh mighty Prince of Panic Attacks.”

Beelzebub groaned. “Zzzhut up.”

They laughed. “Anyway, it seems like he showed up at your door for a reason. And even if neither of you fuckers have any idea what to do now, if you _don’t _want him to destroy himself, you should probably be there with him. Who knows what the great idiot will come up with if left unsupervised?”

The Prince shuddered to think. After convincing themselves with a few more steady breaths, they slowly rose and brushed the glass shards from their suit. “Az alwayzzz, I appreciate both your honezzty and your loyalty, Dagon.”

They grinned lazily. “Of course, sir, anytime. By the way, what’s the oaf got for an animal?”

“Zzome zort of purple antzz, why?”

Dagon’s grin turned wicked. “Would you look at that, eh? A powerful demon with a swarm of insects. Can’t think of who _that_ reminds me of.”

The drywall split on either side of the door as Beelzebub slammed it behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching a lot of Drag Race lately, which might be why Dagon turned into that best friend that knows you better than you know yourself and reads you relentlessly for it. Let me know what you think, and come visit on tumblr at [makewavesandwar!](makewavesandwar.tumblr.com)


	7. Left Me to Rock in My Filth - Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a Prince of Hell, they had led and quashed rebellions, tortured and tempted and destroyed, and yet the reality of the wrecked being in the room before them was as daunting as all of it combined. Another deep breath, and they shut the door softly behind them, raising the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not totally happy with this one, but the show must go on. Anyone have any sure-fire cures for writer's block??

The bedroom was dark when Beelzebub returned, Eric and his copies dismissed. They lingered in the doorway a moment, checking their breathing, Gabriel a barely-discernible shape in the shadows. As a Prince of Hell, they had led and quashed rebellions, tortured and tempted and destroyed, and yet the reality of the wrecked being in the room before them was as daunting as all of it combined. Another deep breath, and they shut the door softly behind them, raising the lights.

Gabriel’s eyes were squeezed closed, his body held rigidly tense, but they could see him flinch a little as the low light hit him. Before they could think better of it, they kicked off their shoes and climbed onto the bed behind him. A quick snap released the hold on his arms, and they leaned back on the headboard, knees mere inches from his ruined shoulders.

The two held silence for a few moments, Gabriel slowly relaxing his tightly clenched muscles. Eventually, he fluttered his eyes open and looked up at the Prince, remorse and pain rolling off of him in waves.

“I wasn’t sure you would come back, Bee. You’re right, I was being selfish, selfish and _stupid_. I didn’t think for a second about the consequences. I’m sorry.”

Beelzebub considered him. “I cannot apologizzze for needing zzome zzpace to procezzzz; all the zzame, I did not intend to break my promizze to zztay. You _were_ being zzelfish and zztupid, yezzz, but I know what Her approval meanzz to you, or meant to you, or whatever. It izz different for you than when I Fell, and perhapzz I should’ve remembered.”

Gabriel tensed again at the mention of the Almighty, his breath shuddering in his chest. “I’m nothing without Her Grace, Bee, I’m completely purposeless, _useless_. I don’t belong in Heaven, I don’t belong _anywhere_, I just – I don’t know what to do. _What do I do?_”

His last words were barely a breath, half prayer and half lament. They ached of loss, of absolute desolation, and beneath them hung the unspoken current of _unworthiness, wretchedness, self-disgust_. But they also rang hollow in the Prince’s ears, not unlike the Heavenly half-truths that spurred their original questions in the Beginning. Beelzebub looked down into Gabriel’s sad, strange eyes and shook their head firmly.

“You’re wrong, you know. You’ve never been ‘nothing’, and you’re not about to zztart now. Hell _quaked _when you Fell, Gabriel. It’ll take zzome getting uzed to, zzure, but your zzkill, your ruthlezznezzz, your _power_ – thoze all come from _you_, not from Her. And azzz to where you belong, I think that’zz rather obviouzzz. You basically zzaid it yourzelf, after you walked zztraight through my wardzz unharmed and knocked on my door. You belong _here._”

The implied “_with me_” hung in the air between them, but Beelzebub quickly moved past it. “There izz zzomething you muzzzzt promize me firzzt, though. You have to promizze to _try_. If you're juzzt going to let thizz dezztroy you, tell me now and I will put you out of your mizzzery myzzelf. I cannot zzzit idly by and watch you do that. I will not let you.”

Gabriel blinked up at the Prince, equal parts fear and hope in his glistening, cloudy eyes. He nodded shakily. “I promise to try, Bee, if you promise to help me.”

They sighed and carefully placed a hand on Gabriel’s forehead, smoothing his ichor-encrusted hair. “I don’t think anyone hazzz _ever _accuzzed me of being helpful, but I guezzz I could give it a shot.”

A small smile wavered on Gabriel’s lips as he leaned into Beelzebub’s touch, eyes sliding closed. He looked exhausted, on top of everything else, and they found themselves wondering if he had much practice sleeping. They’d worked together for thousands of years, yet there was still so much they didn’t know.

_Plenty of time to learn now, I guezzz._

They sat in silence another moment, the Prince absentmindedly playing with a lock of Gabriel’s hair, before he opened his eyes and frowned up at them.

“Is there any use trying to clean and dress my wounds, or is it the sort of thing I just have to suffer through? I’d prefer to be somewhat presentable, if that’s an option.”

The Prince’s lips toyed with a smile, and they lightly tapped Gabriel on the forehead. “Now _there’zz _the vain idiot I know. Cleaning your woundzz izz a worthwhile idea. They will zzztill take a long time to heal, but I’m zzure you’ll be more comfortable. Zzit up, if you can.”

He rose slowly, wincing as barely-formed scabs on his back tore free from the sheets beneath. Beelzebub miracled two damp clothes and handed one to Gabriel.

“You work on your armz and torzzo, and I will get your back and wi–” they stopped short, realizing he hadn’t mentioned his wings yet. The Prince had heard that the angels had gotten a bit…picky about wings after the original Fall. It was a vulnerable position to put yourself it, exposing your back to another being, but grooming was still fairly commonplace in Hell among close companions. They weren’t sure what to expect from Gabriel on the subject, though they were certain his wings were in awful shape. “I will zztart with your back.”

He nodded and accepted the cloth, ignoring their almost-comment. The pair worked in comfortable silence, and slowly Gabriel began to look a little less horrific. Deep burns and gouges still crisscrossed his corporation, but they were oozing ichor less emphatically now, finally rid of any shreds of Heaven that might’ve lingered. Beelzebub found themselves exercising a gentleness they presumed they had forgotten, or lost. They tried not to dwell on this fact.

As they finished bandaging the deepest of his wounds, Gabriel sagged in front of them, exhausted. The Prince miracled their tired companion into a comfortable tracksuit and the bedclothes clean beneath them, then leaned back on the headboard again, satisfied.

“You need to zzleep, wankwingzz.”

Gabriel turned as if to argue, but instead yawned widely. He looked almost sheepish. “That does sound nice. Can I – that is, is it alright if – should I sleep here? I don’t want to be in your way.”

They raised an eyebrow. “What were we juzzzzt zaying about where you belong? Practice. _Try_.”

“I… I belong here. I belong here, so I can sleep here.” He shrunk a little as he spoke, but the words sounded half-believable. Beelzebub sighed and reached out their hand, which he took gratefully.

“Come here and lay down. I can zztay for now, but I will need to check on zzzome thingz later. You should rezzzt for several days if you want to heal quicker.”

Gabriel nodded sleepily and laid back on the pillow beside them, curling toward them as much as he dared. Still clutching their hand in his, he fell asleep almost instantly, leaving the Prince alone with their thoughts. It would take time, probably _lots_ of time, but they could see traces of his old self under the beaten-down outer shell. _He will come back to himzzelf_, they mused, _and then he will be here with me, finally._

Shuddering at the disgusting _softness _of that thought, the Prince shut their eyes and willed themselves asleep, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, and come visit on tumblr at [makewavesandwar!](makewavesandwar.tumblr.com)


	8. When You Swear There's Nobody Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bee indulges in a little sleep-watching with a side of entomology, before more shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew buddy, sorry for the wait. This is a short one, but hey, it's here! Writer's block begets depression begets writer's block begets depression...what a mess! Thanks for your patience, and especially to [Snake66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snake66/pseuds/Snake66), [Rose_de_Noire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_de_Noire/pseuds/Rose_de_Noire), and [AEpixie7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7) for their kind words and advice on the previous chapter. Fingers tightly crossed for renewed inspiration in the coming weeks, though the holidays might screw with my updates a little, too. But hey! I've got a chapter estimate now!

It was hard to judge the passing of time in Hell – no windows, generally no working clocks – but when Beelzebub blinked themselves awake it felt like an age had elapsed. Their bedroom had dimmed again, the result of either a subconscious miracle or faulty wiring, and the quiet, warm shadows tempted the Prince to shut their eyes against their looming responsibilities.

_There’zz probably nothing zo important that it couldn’t wait another…few hourzz? few dayzzz?_

Slouching further down the headboard in an attempt to burrow under the covers, Beelzebub became once again aware of the steadfast grip Gabriel had on their hand. He had slept like the dead at first, but had become increasingly restless, shaking and turning as if dodging things in his dreams. Somehow, he had managed not to let go of their hand for even an instant, which seemed almost a miracle in and of itself.

Wriggling down beside him, the Prince peeked open their eyes and gave themselves a moment to examine the former archangel up close. Even just a few hours’ rest had begun to heal the wounds the torturous Grace had left, leaving him a little less ragged on the edges. It was almost absurd that he still managed to look _handsome _after all he had been through. There, still, was his shiny, perfectly tousled hair; there, the strong lines of his facial bones, under the array of gouges. He had always been blessedly beautiful in every way, no matter the form he took, which Beelzebub had _hated _in the early days – beauty was an easy thing to reject when it had rejected you first. But it would be another great lie to pretend they hadn’t grown to appreciate (and _more_) that angelic perfection as time wore on. It was refreshing, at first, and then it was just… Gabriel.

Now, of course, he was a little more than _just _Gabriel. Even in the low light, the iridescent exoskeletons of his ants flashed hypnotically as they scattered over his body. There seemed to be no design to their movements, though they walked with great purpose, and Beelzebub watched with interest as they realized that none strayed onto the covers or pillow beneath him. Carefully, they reached out their free hand and placed their fingers directly in the path of a few diligent insects. The ants abruptly stopped, antennae waving furiously as they tried to determine what was blocking their way, until one brave individual darted onto the Prince’s hand and began to explore. Several more followed suit before they slowly brought their hand back to examine the creatures.

It felt desperately intimate to watch the small insects scurry across their hand, collecting every scent they could with frantic antennae. Though they had always had a soft spot for invertebrates, they’d never spent much time considering ants, and now reveled in the subtle differences between individuals, the humble power in their tiny frames. Lazily, one of their own flies circled and landed on their hand, regarding the ants with a similar curiosity. A chemical exchange ensued, waving arms and feelers and mandibles, the fly’s glittering compound eye swirling with reflections. Beelzebub couldn’t help but smile.

The insects were abruptly upset from their positions as Gabriel began tossing again, his brow furrowed. His grip on their hand tightened, and he mumbled something unintelligible, shaking his head. They held perfectly still, trying not to disturb him further, but it soon became obvious that this wasn’t the same as his earlier agitations. His mumbles became shouts, words split across languages but all soaked in panic. His free hand found the side of his face and made to rip off the bandages before Beelzebub seized it.

“Gabriel, hey, _wake up_!” They shouted, trying to wrestle his thrashing form into stillness.

He pitched twice more, shouts turning to groans, before quieting and blinking his eyes open. “Bee? What’s happening? I was dreaming, but then I thought…”

He trailed off, and they both froze. The echoes of a blood-curdling scream were reverberating through Hell, growing closer, and with the sound came an all-too familiar smell. Lights flickered through the halls, and the old radio crackled a few more bars of its tune.

A body hit the ground of the Pit with a thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's a pretty short chapter. But who could _possibly_ have Fallen??! ;) As always, let me know what you think, and come visit on tumblr at [makewavesandwar](tumblr.com/makewavesandwar)!!


	9. You Need a Villain, Give Me a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dagon gave the Prince a lazy smile. “Two in one week, eh? What’re these fuckers doing up there?”
> 
> Beelzebub returned the smile blandly. “Maybe She’zz finally realizing what we’ve known all along – that they’re a bunch of uptight wankerzzz?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write again! Maybe I am departing from my writing funk at last! :D

Gabriel was off the bed before the Prince could even react. He tore out of the bedroom into their office, throwing open the outer door just as Beelzebub shouted, “What the _fuck _do you think you’re doing?” There was no reply, only the smack of his bare feet on the floor of the hallway, growing fainter as he continued running.

They groaned.

A quick miracle restored their suit to a presentable level of wrinkled, and a second took them to the lip of the Pit, where Dagon and others had begun to gather. Lesser demons lurked along the walls, whispering to each other but not nearing the edge. Hastur looked nearly sick with excitement (though he might’ve just be sick – hard to tell with that one).

Dagon gave the Prince a lazy smile. “Two in one week, eh? What’re these fuckers _doing_ up there?”

Beelzebub returned the smile blandly. “Maybe She’zz finally realizing what we’ve known all along – that they’re a bunch of uptight wankerzzz?”

Dagon laughed, as Hastur looked between the two in confusion. “What do you mean, _two_? Where’s the other one?”

The Prince looked down at their wrist, though it bore no watch. “The dumbazzzz decided to run, zzo he should be here right about…”

Every head in the crowd snapped to attention as Gabriel sprinted into their midst and stopped, bandages on his feet flapping and a trail of black footprints in his wake. He wavered slightly before dropping to his knees, face pale.

“I…should not have done that.”

Dagon snickered. “No shit, Sherlock.”

The whispers of the lesser demons were growing louder, but Beelzebub held up a hand to silence them. “He izz not our concern right now. Eric, retrieve the Fallen from the Pit and bring them before uzz.”

Eric and his assembled copies nodded, leaping lightly over the edge as they extended small, blue-black wings. Beelzebub fought the urge to turn to Gabriel, to reach for him in reassurance – _it izz far too public here, and bezidezzz, zzince when am I reazzuring?_ – but as the Erics rose into view with the newly Fallen between them, matted chestnut hair loose from its usual coif but easily recognizable, their hand moved of its own volition. Gabriel clutched it gratefully, letting out a choked cry at Michael’s limp form.

“She’s out cold, my Prince, but look at these wounds. These don’t look like what the other Fallen have got.”

“She wazz tortured, I expect. Orderzz from the Metatron.” Beelzebub droned, ignoring the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of the demons around them; however, they could not ignore Gabriel’s flinch at the mention of his tormenter’s name. “Put her with the otherzz, and inform me immediately if she wakezz.”

The Erics moved to transport her again, but Gabriel’s indignant spluttering gave them pause.

“Wait, no, she can’t just go with the others!”

Hastur scoffed, but it was Dagon that spoke. “And why the fuck not, Ant-Man?”

“I – well, because! All her wounds are still fresh, and the others Fell weeks ago, they’ve had some time to heal. She should be cleaned up and bandaged!” He gestured to his own bandages, then looked up at Beelzebub imploringly. “She was an Archangel too, for Go– _someone’s_ sake. She’s very powerful, doesn’t that hold any weight?”

They shrugged. “It izz not in our practizezz to coddle the newly Fallen. You are an exception, and I will zpeak for you, but if Michael hazz no one to take her we muzzzt place her with the otherzz, no matter her high ztatuzz.”

The Prince glanced at the members of Hell’s nobility that surrounded them. “Hazztur, will you zpeak for her? I know she worked with Ligur on zome projectzz.”

Hastur shook his head, cringing at the mention of his obliviated companion. “I don’t need the trouble, and there sure as shit wasn’t anyone to speak for me when I Fell. I say let her fester with the others.”

Nodding, the Prince turned to the next demon, an Underduke of little standing, but before they could say a word a shudder passed through Michael. Her head, which had been lolled forward on her chest, shot upright with a yelp and fell back, exposing her neck and collarbone. Beneath her burns, the skin was patchily orange and textured, a roughness that was certainly not angelic. As they watched the orange rippled to dark brown, as if a current were passing through her skin. It reminded them of a sea creature they had seen once, long ago; a quick glance at Dagon’s paling face told them that it was an accurate resemblance.

Skipping the Underduke, Beelzebub looked to the Lord of the Files. “Dagon? Will you zzpeak for Michael?”

Dagon gulped, reaching their hand to their own neck and touching the patch of scales there. For once, they had no witty comeback. “I – yes, I will take her.”

“Excellent. Eric, take the Fallen to Dagon’zz chamberz. And azz for the rezzzt of you – _get back to fucking work_.”

The lesser demons dispersed, grumbling as they went. Gabriel let out a sigh of relief beside them and clambered to his feet. “Thank you.” he said quietly.

They rolled their eyes. “Never, _ever_ mention it. Oh, and Dagon?”

Dagon paused, having begun to follow the troupe of Erics out of the room. “Yes, my Prince?”

“It’zz ztrange, Michael izz now thiz powerful demon with what lookzz to be a zzea creature azzpect. Who doezz that remind me of?”

Dagon flashed their teeth and flipped them off with both hands. “Fuck off, my Prince.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harder than expected to explain chromatophores, I gotta say. And yes, Dagon has been reading all of Crowley's meme reports so they have the references, mkay??
> 
> As ever, let me know what you think via comments and kudos, and say hello on [tumblr](makewavesandwar.tumblr.com) if you like!


	10. You Prayed She'd Leave You Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince could only imagine the anguish he was feeling – he’d barely begun to understand his own Fall, and now he had to contend with his second-in-command’s as well. As for themselves, they were confused. Why Michael, too?
> 
> _The whole bloody world hazz gone upzzide-down thezze dayz._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone have mercy, it's been a minute. I knew the holidays would be chaotic, but they really took the cake this year - I drove 2000 miles, lost my 96-year-old grandmother, and somehow ended up in the middle of sibling warfare between my mother and her two sisters. Nonetheless, I'm glad to be getting back into the swing of things, and crank out the final few chapters of this, my firstborn fic!
> 
> This chapter was definitely planned to be angrier, but the plot had other ideas. Oh well. I'm pleased with it!

Gabriel was silent as the two returned to Beelzebub’s quarters, his expression unreadable. He’d abandoned the torn bandages around his ankles, and the painful smack of his raw feet on the ground was making him grimace minutely. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he wouldn’t meet their eyes.

The Prince could only imagine the anguish he was feeling – he’d barely begun to understand his own Fall, and now he had to contend with his second-in-command’s as well. As for themselves, they were confused. Why Michael, too? What was her supposed crime? Sure, she had conspired with Hell to eliminate the demon Crowley, who _apparently _was working to the benefit of God’s Ineffable Plan by stopping Armageddon. But wasn’t thwarting demons a pretty standard activity for angels, regardless of the circumstances? It didn’t make sense.

_The whole bloody world hazz gone upzzide-down thezze dayz._

Gabriel entered the office first, leaning against the Prince’s desk as they shut the door. His fingers, subconsciously sharpened into claws, dug into the wood beneath him as he took a shaky breath.

“This feels like it’s probably my fault. Michael, I mean.”

Beelzebub tilted their head, considering him. “How zzo?”

“Well – I was in charge of her. We made all of the plans for Armageddon together, coordinated the battalions, all of that, even down to working with your lot to try to punish Aziraphale and that demon. If I hadn’t been so consumed, or…if my faith had been stronger…” He trailed off, voice thin.

“That’zz not a particularly convincing argument, Gabriel, and I think you know it. It doezzzn’t zound like you forced her, or _tempted _her, or whatever. She believed in what she wazz doing, and I guezzz the Metatron thinkz that’zz a punishable offenzze.”

He abruptly slammed his hands on the desk, and there was red in his eyes as they met Beelzebub’s. “Then why not sentence us _all _to Fall? Uriel, Sandalphon, every blessed angel in Heaven – everyone was walking the same direction, believing we were doing the right thing, the holy thing. Why only Michael?”

They opened their mouth to protest, but Gabriel continued, voice rising in apparent fury. “And how can the Metatron even tell us that our faith was weak, when we were listening to _them?!_ They told us it was time to prepare for the War, that an Antichrist was on Earth, that the Great Plan was moving forward _as planned_. So we listened, and we did everything that was expected of us, and now _some_ are being punished for that? Why Michael? How is that just?”

He stood and began pacing, fuming and fussing with the bandages on his wrists. “She didn’t deserve to Fall, Bee. She’s my friend and my co-worker and a damn good angel, and she didn’t deserve to Fall.”

The Prince frowned. “Zzo why did _you_ dezerve to Fall, then? By that logic, if Michael’z Fall wazz unjuzzt, zo waz yourzzz. What’zz the difference?”

Gabriel gaped at them. “I was the leader, God’s Messenger! I should’ve seen through the test, should’ve exercised my faith better instead of being so weak.”

“No, the Metatron _told_ you that you were weak. Don’t you zzuppoze they told Michael the zzame thing when she wazz being tortured? Izzz that true of her? Or izz it pozzzible that the Metatron wazz lying to the both of you?”

“Angels don’t lie, least of all the Metatron.” He scoffed.

“Zzure, right. Give me a better explanation, then. How izz it juzzt that you and Michael have Fallen for doing your duty, and the otherzz have not?”

He fell silent, tugging at his bandages again and dropping into a chair with a frown. “I don’t know, Bee, but it feels like something is wrong and I just…I don’t understand.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “That never used to bother me, you know? I didn’t need to understand. What was right was right, what was wrong was wrong. I had a purpose, and a path to walk. Even if there was never affirmation from the Almighty that we were doing the right thing, well – we hadn’t Fallen, so it must be okay!”

The former Archangel reached for them, and the Prince obliged. Their hands found his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around their waist, forehead pressed into their stomach and words muffled. “I miss certainty. I miss not _wondering_ all the time. It’s exhausting, and it’s _painful_, and it doesn’t make me feel any better. Will the others Fall? Is this really the Almighty’s Will, or is it the Metatron’s? And either way, why even let us get this far if the world wasn’t _actually_ meant to end?”

They could feel his face tensing against them, feel the returning tightness of his shoulders under their fingers even as he tried to relax. An angel could’ve perhaps consoled him, despite his Fall – reminded him of the ineffable _goodness_ of God, the role each being plays in Her grand design, the futility of questioning that role, even now. An opportunistic demon, on the other hand, would exploit this vulnerability, this confusion and anger, twist the wretched knife of emptiness a little deeper into his newly Fallen chest. _It never ztopzz feeling like thizz, not for any of uzz. It doezzn’t get better. Welcome to Hell!_

Beelzebub could nearly hear the words in their own voice, bubbling on the tip of their tongue, but they held them back. Something else, the whisper of some soft, blooming thing in the back of their mind, was urging them into silence. _All he needs for comfort is your presence. Just be here now._ The voice was not theirs, but it was achingly familiar, skirting on the knife’s-edge of memory and oblivion. The Prince felt their nose prickle as if with tears, despite their still-missing tear ducts, and closed their arms around the back of Gabriel’s head, holding him to themself.

He sighed into them, tightening his grip. The two breathed in silence for a time, Beelzebub’s eyes unfocused on the wall before them, before Gabriel quietly spoke. “Thank you, Bee. For Michael, for me, for everything. I feel so angry, _blisteringly _angry, but being here like this…” The slight press of chapped lips against the wrinkled fabric of their vest. “…it helps.”

They buzzed noncommittally, ignoring the warmth on their face. “Yezz, well. I promizzed to try to help, zo. Here we are.”

Gabriel chuckled and tilted his head to look up at the Prince. His dark eyes, moments ago roiling with rage, had quieted to a subtle, gleaming warmth. It was not a look of perfect contentedness – the anger was there, beneath the surface, along with the raw pain of his wounds – but neither was it the dull emptiness of many of the demons’ eyes, a symbol of their absolute despondency and abandonment of self. Despite the loss of their signature color, the expression in his eyes was undeniably _Gabriel_, and Beelzebub was struck once again with the thought that _he will come back to himzzelf, and then he will be here with me, forever._

The expression in his eyes was also undeniably _tired_, and the Prince unwound their arms from his neck. “You should rezzt again. I need to work, but I will wake you up if anything new happenz with Michael.”

He nodded, letting sleepiness wash back over his features as he rose. Instead of removing his hands from their waist, however, he let them drift up to cup their face, carefully ghosting his thumbs over the corporeal boils on their cheeks. With almost _sickly_ tenderness, Gabriel leaned down and placed a kiss on their forehead, depositing hope and gratefulness and affection in the shape of his lips on their skin. The unfamiliar weight of it nearly knocked the Prince over, and left them entirely speechless.

Seeing their dumbfounded expression, the newly Fallen smiled smugly and pulled away towards the bedroom door. “Goodnight, Lord Beelzebub.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! As ever, let me know what you think and come visit on [tumblr](makewavesandwar.tumblr.com) if you'd like!
> 
> Also, if you haven't checked out my [other new fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155043), I'd be delighted if you gave it a read! It is NOT a happy one, though, so be warned. :)


	11. From the Destruction, Out of the Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel rests, Beelzebub chills, Dagon panic-works and Hastur is just along for the ride. Then, Michael finally wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unholy smokes, it has been a hot dang minute. While that's on me, it's also like....the state of the world. In case you forgot, wear your dang mask, black lives matter, and fucking register to vote (esp. in America but literally no matter where you are).
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoy!

Gabriel slept soundly for days while the Prince caught up on paperwork. There had been no change in Michael, and Dagon seemed to be compensating by throwing themselves head-first into their duties. Long-overdue reports and completely redundant documentation found their way onto Beelzebub’s desk by the ream. They couldn’t be sure whether the Lord of the Files’ enthusiasm was borne from nervousness or the desire to impress, but by the end of the fourth day the backlog of work from the almost-apocalypse had been all but handled.

On the fifth day, a knock sounded on the Prince’s door, somehow managing to seem _wet _on the dry paneling. _Hazzztur_. Beelzebub admitted him with a quick snap, and the Duke gave a lopsided bow as he entered.

“My Lord, Dagon sent me over. Wankwings No. 2 is conscious again.” Hastur’s expression muddied. “Somethin’ weird’s goin’ on with Dagon, I think I saw them hyper-, hippov-…breathin’ real fast after comin’ out of their quarters.”

Beelzebub smirked. “Pitiful. Awful job bringing me the newzz, Haztur, you’re dizmizzzed.”

The Duke took his leave, and Beelzebub materialized their bedroom door to wake Gabriel. He had taken to sleeping completely diagonally on the mattress, pillow corner barely tucked under his ear and one foot dangling comically over the edge. It was still strange to see him there, taking up space in their bed and their life, but less so day by day. The strangeness was being replaced with an impatience for him to heal, for him to take up a _different_ kind of space in their bed, but they pushed the thought down when it surfaced. _Not now. Not until he izz himzelf again._

They extended one long claw and traced it over the arch of his exposed foot, featherlight. The effect was instantaneous – Gabriel yelped and almost flipped off the bed, arms flailing and grasping at nothing. Beelzebub’s laugh filled the room, and though he tried to maintain it, his scowl melted away at the sound.

“Was that entirely necessary?”

The Prince shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it? Michael’z awake, juzzt got the newzz.” They perched on the edge of the mattress, resting their now clawless hand on Gabriel’s ankle. “I’m going to go talk to her, confirm that our azzzumption about Heavenly torture izz correct. Are you up to going azz well?”

Gabriel’s expression sobered at Michael’s name, and he fiddled with the bedsheet. “What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if she believes it’s my fault – or the Metatron told her it’s my fault?”

They shrugged again. “Won’t know unlezz you go, right? But it’zz fine if you’d rather ztay here.”

Still frowning, he shook his head. “No, I want to see her. I don’t understand, but maybe she does, or…either way. She’s my sibling. I should see her.”

Beelzebub nodded, straightening their vest as they led Gabriel out of their quarters. “It will be worth it, if only to witnezzz firzzt hand the _mezzz_ that izz Dagon. Hazztur zaid they were hyperventilating.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Really? Dagon? They strike me as hard to fluster.”

A bemused smirk played across the Prince’s face. “Uzzually I’d agree, but then again I’ve never zzeen them have to deal with a charming, recently-Fallen Archangel. Enough to make anyone a little…_fluzztered_.”

“Ah.”

A sideways glance confirmed the slight blush on Gabriel’s cheeks, which he maintained all the way to Dagon’s quarters. They found the Lord of the Files on the floor behind their desk, hands covering their face and making a continuous low groan.

“You’re looking very put-together today, Dagon.”

The groaning grew louder. “Shut up, my Lord. I’m too fucking tired to deal with this.”

“Deal with what?” Gabriel piped up, casting a confused eye over the demon on the floor. Dagon flung one arm towards the nearby bedroom door. “I don’t know, but fuck. She isn’t what I was expecting.”

The Prince shot Gabriel a look, which he returned with a shrug. Together the two entered the bedroom to find Michael staring contemplatively at the ceiling, charred wings splayed around her. She turned to them as they entered, and her eyes warmed.

“Gabriel! It’s good to see you looking…mostly alright.”

Beelzebub could practically hear his jaw unclench at the sound of his sibling’s voice, and he strode quickly across the room to kneel awkwardly at her side. Michael’s smile froze as she looked over his shoulder at the Prince, clearly unsure how to react to their tandem arrival. “Lord Beelzebub.”

“Wankwingzzzz. I’m imprezzed by whatever you did to Dagon, haven’t zeen them like thizz in agezz.”

She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know what I did – they told me I was a cuttlefish or something? And I told them I used to like to visit the ocean, before the first Fall. Does that make any sense?”

Snickering meanly, they circled the bed to lean on the bedpost next to the kneeling Fallen. “In a way, it almozzt doezz, but I’ll let them explain it later. Back to buzzinezz – I juzzt need official confirmation that you were tortured zzimilar to Gabriel, az well azz any inzzightz you might have on whether thizz izz going to become a _habit_ of Heaven’zz. Then the two of you can feel free to ‘catch up’ without me.”

Michael inhaled sharply. “Tortured, yes. Habit, no. I should be the last to Fall. This…this is the start of something else, I think. I don’t know how long it’s meant to take, or what exactly the outcome will be, but…” Her eyes flickered between Gabriel and Beelzebub. “…I think that it’s going to be for the best.”

“…for the best?” Gabriel’s shoulders began tensing up his neck again. “We were tortured, for _weeks_, and rent from Her Grace. That’s going to be for the best? How can you know that?”

She sighed. “Have faith, Gabriel. We all have roles to play, now more than ever.”

“Faith.” The word came out dull and flat, but Gabriel’s hands were shaking as he disentangled them from the bedsheets and reached towards the Prince like an anchor. They took a half-step toward him to accept the gesture, running their thumb over his knuckles in a way they hoped was both soothing and subtle.

“I – I’m sorry, Gabriel. I know that’s what the Metatron told you, that your faith was weak. The echoes of their voice…I still hear it, too. They told me I was alone, that you would hate me and that I would have nothing waiting for me here, not after – well, Ligur’s gone. It was _agony_. But don’t you see? The Metatron was already wrong – I’m not alone. They could yet be wrong about you, too. I can’t tell you how, or why, but I can’t help but believe there’s still a reason for all of this, a _plan_, somehow. If you don’t want to place your faith in Heaven anymore, I understand, but maybe we could have faith in each other?”

Gabriel’s hand was still tight in Beelzebub’s, but his frown was flattening. Tentatively, he reached for Michael’s hand where it rested on the bed, and she took it with a sigh of relief.

“I will _try_ to have faith, Michael, in you at least. If you truly think it’s worthwhile.” He looked wryly up at Beelzebub. “I’ll just add it to the list of everything else I’m supposed to _try _to do – what’s one more thing?”

They rolled their eyes as Michael smiled tightly, appreciative. She looked up at the Prince. “Dagon also told me that you allowed me to be brought here, at Gabriel’s request. Is a ‘thank you’ in order, or should I just never mention it?”

“The zzzecond one, although half of Hell wazz already prezent when I gave the order. My reputation hazz had better weekzz.”

A half-barked laugh at the door announced Dagon’s return to the upright world. “Don’t let me interrupt – just thought I heard my name and needed to check if you were talking shit.”

“Only shit that’zz true, there’zz plenty to go around.”

Before the Lords could continue bickering, Michael spoke again. “Thank you for coming to see me, Gabriel, but I think I need to rest again. I’ve never felt this tired in my life.”

“Of course. I’m glad I came, too.” He gave her hand a final squeeze as he rose. “I can come back after you’ve rested more, and we can talk.”

Michael nodded and let her eyes drift closed. The three demons took their leave, Dagon’s breathing conspicuously spiking again as Beelzebub whispered something about _oceanzz _and _awfully convenient_ as they left the office. Gabriel didn’t press, and neither of the Lords seemed keen to share, so he let it drop for the moment.

His fear of seeing Michael somewhat assuaged, Gabriel let himself dwell on her words. He wasn’t sure if he was impressed or angry at her vehement faith, even in as dark of times as these. Thinking back on their long lives, he supposed she had always been like that – self-assured, calm in the face of stress but ruthless when necessary. He had always admired that about her, but now it felt hollow.

Beelzebub’s shoulder knocked into his arm, drawing him out of his reverie. “Izz it better or worzzze that Michael zeemz to be the zzame az uzzual?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to spend more time with her, I think. Thank you for inviting me to see her today, though. It was the right thing to do.”

The Prince grumbled noncommittally, their cheeks flushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the perspective transition in the last few paragraphs a little awkward? Yes.  
Will I apologize for it? No.  
Will I fix it later? Maybe.
> 
> Let me know what you think, and come bug me on tumblr at makewavesandwar if you want! The next chapter might take me a hot minute to write...things are gonna get _ spicy _.


End file.
